My name is Jess Kovacs, a children and teens librarian and I am learning to read…again. A very dirty confession for a self professed bookworm and librarian but this is where we are.

Some of you who have been on this journey with me for a while know I’ve struggled with health issues consistently over the last 3 years. What you don’t know is that I’ve recently been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder II.  We don’t know if it’s a side effect from everything else or if I’ve always had it (although I’m convinced I’ve always had it) but it’s here and present and taking over my life. If I was having trouble reading and focusing before, I have even more now. I can’t focus, my world is flat. Reading feels near impossible. But what do you do when reading is a huge part of your life and personality? Not only is it part of my job but being an ex-bookworm just isn’t suiting me. So I’m learning to read, again. 

How am I learning to read again? One freaking step at a time. 

Step one, don’t be afraid to pick up a book. It can be scary to pick up a book when you know that it’s going to be a struggle, the sheer size of a book may be daunting. But pick one up anyway. I’ve found that starting with an old favourite has helped overcome the daunting feeling. It feels like coming home.

Step two, limit the pressure on yourself. Find a way to be okay with just reading one sentence, then two, then a paragraph, and eventually a page. We’re not going chapter by chapter anymore. We’re going sentence by sentence. Limit the pressure and the next thing you know you’ll have read a page. And if you have to stop after a page, or two, then be okay with that. Which leads me to step three, celebrate every sentence read. 

Learn to celebrate every single sentence! A book is written sentence by sentence, word by word so why should reading be any different. Each sentence is a little slice of decadence and deserves to be savoured. And while you are savouring those sentences, they will turn into pages which turn into chapters, which turn into a book. And not a book you rushed through just to move on to the next one but a well read book, which was thoroughly explored. And that my friends, is worth celebrating.  

This is how I’m learning to read again. Not being afraid to pick up a book, limiting the pressure, and celebrating every sentence. So far I’ve made it through one old favourite and one new book so i’d say the system has been a success. Do I still get frustrated? Yes, absolutely! But that’s when I look back at each sentence, each page, each chapter I’ve read and remember to celebrate.

Other tips: Try reading in a new way, like give audiobooks a try! They have helped me rediscover the ability to lose myself in a story, something I had been sorely missing.

Until next time,

AKA, the one not about books but something I’ve been wanting to share for awhile.

I’ve never been a writer but I’ve always wanted to write. I just never actually tried, and I guess that’s pretty much my whole life story. Wanting to, dreaming big, and never bothering to try. This pattern had been my standard life practice up until very recently. No, this isn’t a story where the protagonist finally gets out of their comfort zone and fulfills their potential. I am certainly not an inspiration. It’s a story about someone who learned that reaching and falling is a whole hell of a lot better than being stuck and freaking scared. The short version is, I actually tried, failed hard, cried a lot then picked myself back up and unlike the previous version of myself, I tired again. The trying again bit, if you hadn’t figured it out, is the message here. 

One of my favourite authors once said that every writer is an author, no matter if they are published or not. There is no title of aspiring author, if they write and create story then they ARE an author just by doing so. I thought that was an absolutely lovely concept and quickly shared it with all my friends calling themselves “aspiring authors”. They all embraced their new title and I was right there along with them until I realized I was missing an essential step. You kind of have to actually DO some writing to gain the title. I was actually just an aspiring writer. There had been no writing just the aspiration to write. I just didn’t have any drive or confidence, until I started the shittiest job I have ever had. Working in the collections department at an electrical company. Sounds strange, I know. 

My days were spent stressed out and angry, with the customers, the company and myself. Don’t get me wrong, if you want to get paid well, have a wonderful pension/benefits plan and can handle a soul sucking day of squeezing money out of multiple desperate people then by all means, it’s a wonderful job. I’m not so much into the soul sucking and letting people down though. Which is why I spent my days, when not explaining to people that not paying your bill for two years causes a high balance, plotting up ways to get me out of that shit show. Plotting, that’s what i’m good at. Follow through? Not so much. In the end, plotting ways to become an instant millionaire never amounted to a million dollars. So I sank further into my now diagnosed bipolar depression, crying on the way to and from work, and doing my best to ruin all positive relationships. It was a really stellar time for everyone. I tried writing but when you are that far down the writing flow feels completely inaccessible. 

If you’ve never experienced actual depression, it’s pretty hard to describe the place it takes you. I find myself constantly using the word heavy. Heavy heart isn’t just an expression my friends. It’s a suffocating yet slightly indescribable feeling, that can bring your whole life to a complete stop. Taking away your agency, taking away any sort of drive or feelings of worth. It was one morning in this headspace that I arrived at work, started setting up my station for the day and doing my usual bitching to my coworkers about how much I hated the job. One of my coworkers turned around and said “Then why don’t you quit already?” clearly tired of my constant complaining. That was all it took for me to have a life changing realization. That I was allowed to quit, that I was allowed to be the author of my own story. I had dreamed about quitting for over a year but never actually considered that I could. I had savings and was privileged enough to have time and multiple degrees, so why hadn’t I considered taking the time to try for something more? The answer is because I was fucking scared to try (and depressed but that’s a different story). Twenty-five years of being content not trying left me stuck. After a pause I answered “I don’t know” and went straight upstairs to talk to my boss. I quit without hesitation right then and there. I went back downstairs, looked at my coworkers and announced “I quit, i’m done next week”. My statement was followed with shock. Despite my constant (clearly annoying) complaining about how much this job was killing me, no one expected me to quit the job that paid $32/hour. Something that I still find myself justifying to people five years later. Sometimes i’m still justifying it to myself, seems I spent the next 10 months woefully unemployed and sinking into debt. My heart felt lighter though and that struggle seemed so much easier to handle than being stuck. 

Let’s fast forward. A couple months into unemployment I decided to get around to that trying thing. I took a fairly recent heartbreak (I don’t know why I took that for inspiration, it’s not a genre I enjoy) and turned it into one of the worst short stories to ever exist. Then I spiralled. I had awards from the English Department, I was known as the reader, I worked for HarperCollins Canada. I was “The Book Girl” and it turned out I was a shitty writer. I was left feeling like Rory Gilmore in the Netflix revival. Spoiled, privileged, completely unaware of myself and just really really lost. So I reevaluated my goals. I spent time considering when I was last happy with a job. I loved HarperCollins but it was a little extra for my low energy personality. I knew the burn out rate would be high if I stayed in that career. I came to the conclusion that I was happiest working at the University Library during my undergrad at Guelph. With a new goal in mind, I started tailoring my resume and skills toward Library Science. It took me 8 months to even get an interview at a library after applying to over 25 positions. I even debated going back to school for a 2nd post graduate degree. I failed over and over and over, had informational interviews, made connections, put myself out there and I was still failing. Normally this is when I would have reached the “fuck it” point and given up but this time felt different. I made the decision to try. And even while struggling with Bipolar Disorder II, eventually I landed the perfect library job and did go back for another degree. I’m spectacularly happy in this job AND I have time to work on my writing on the side. Which is still mostly shitty but guess what? I’m now out of the aspiring author category. I’ve actually completed a novel and it’s all thanks to working my most hated job ever. Without that moment when I realized I was stuck for no reason, I wouldn’t have bothered to try. And trying, my friends…trying is what makes the world go round. Or just makes you leave the couch and shower. 

Every accomplishment starts with the decision to try.

Until next time,

How cancer fixed my toxic relationship with Bookstagram

Five years ago I had the pleasure of being introduced to the world of bookstagram while working at HarperCollins. I had dabbled in Instagram a bit before, occasionally posting photos of what I was reading but I had no idea there was a whole community on Instagram dedicated to books. Tumblr was where my book community lived at that time and I was slow to move away from spending 6 million hours on Tumblr every week.

In 2015, unemployed and trying to find a Librarian position, I finally started to embrace my publishing past and took on the world of bookstagram. It was a slow process for me, I started posting bookish content more often on my personal account before discovering that creating a separate account strictly based around bookstagram was the preferable option. Once I well and truly dove into bookstagram as Regularly Reads an undeniable spark was lit. I was addicted. I HAD to post everyday. I looked at people like @pollyandbooks (now @polly.florence) and @abookishloveaffair and marvelled at their success. I would beat myself up every time I lost followers or got less than a certain number of likes. I refreshed the app constantly tracking every analytic that I could. You could say that bookstagram and I had a fairly unhealthy relationship. Perhaps you would even call it toxic. I remember crying when I hadn’t hit 10k followers by the first year. I wasn’t even close (and I’m still not). What was supposed to be a fun hobby to keep me connected to the bookish world I loved so much had quickly become something entirely different.

In early 2017, now employed at the best library ever (I may be biased), I was still obsessed with my bookstagram success. My inability to grow my account had me doubting everything about myself. I had my self-worth so tied up in my success or failures on bookstagram. I wasn’t even enjoying bookstagram anymore, it felt like an obligation more so than a fun hobby. My book buying stopped correlating with my TBR (which was a business all of its own). I was spending money I didn’t have just to keep up with new releases I wasn’t even interested in. Bookstagram and I were seeking couples therapy. Then came my cancer diagnosis.

Honestly, I’m not even sure how I managed to operate at all during 2017 (and 2018)… let alone keep the pressure on myself to not only perform at work but also keep up with my bookstagram. But I did it, for a while. I started to miss posting a day here or there, then a whole week, then a whole month. I would just feel so terribly guilty and upset for letting “my followers” and myself down. And thanks to the algorithm changes, my lack of posts made me essentially disappear. I was devastated but I was going through cancer treatment, I couldn’t even work. So why should I be berating myself for not keeping up with a hobby when my whole life was busy being turned upside down? It turns out that denial really isn’t just a river in Egypt. In the middle of treatment I found myself having a full on breakdown and it wasn’t because cancer sucked (which it did), it was because I had lost over 100 followers while I took time off to receive treatment. Crazy right? At the time it totally didn’t feel like it. My friend sat me down and asked me one simple question, which she probably learned from Marie Kondo via Emily Gilmore. She asked “What brings you joy right now?”. I automatically listed off a few things, some of which were napping and not throwing up, none of which were bookstagram.  So I made the obvious choice. Take a break, step away from the ‘gram and take care of me.

It’s over a year later and I’m still in recovery mode. I’m cancer free but I’m working on getting back to normal. Which has been interesting because my old normal doesn’t seem to fit anymore. As far as bookstagram and I go, we are still in recovery as well. I’m getting my bookish spark back, starting with enjoying scrolling through bookstagram again and supporting all my fellow bookstagrammers. I’ve made room for myself to read as I wish and what I wish, with no pacing obligations or pressure. I’m taking it one day at a time, participating as I feel, making my contributions to the community more worthwhile and finding my self-worth in other ways. Like allowing myself to enjoy the person I’ve become and being proud of what I’ve made it through. I feel so much more connected to the words I’m reading and the community I’m surrounded by, simply by allowing myself the space to do so. Bookstagram is amazing and a lucky (hardworking) few may make a career out of it but forgetting the real benefits of the community can be toxic. Your worth is not made up of followers and likes.

As for bookstagram and I, we are headed toward a full reconciliation and a potential happily ever after. Bookish love just might be in the air.

Until next time,

It was July 8th of the year 2000 and I had just got my hands on The Goblet of Fire. All 636 pages of it. It was summer and I had nothing but time. I read for nearly eight hours straight until I reached the final line “As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come . . . and he would have to meet it when it did”.

And that was how I always read; in one single sitting. I was the master of binge reading, sitting for hours at a time reading straight through a novel. It never occurred to me that you could put a book down once you started it. 

I read novels this way all through University with no problem. Then I became a “real adult”. My reading time was suddenly limited to lunch breaks, an hour here or there before bed, and my blissful weekends. I was at a loss for how to go about reading. I couldn’t possibly just read a few chapters at a time, I’d lose the flow of the story. And what if I had to stop at a really good part or on a cliffhanger? I couldn’t be that person who took a month to finish a single novel, people would think I’m a slow reader *gasp*. My solution was to sacrifice sleep. Start a book at 8pm and finish between 12 and 2am. It was great for a while, I was still getting in about three books a week but my 2am bedtime and 7:30am wake up call got old really fast. Back at the drawing board, I’m sure the solution seemed obvious. Instead I went through two years of only reading one book a month, maybe two if I had a particularly relaxing weekend. But at least I finished them in one sitting… so I was following my reading ethos at least. My TBR pile grew and grew. At 9 o’clock every night when I was ready to settle in with a book, I would talk myself out of it because I didn’t have “time” to finish the book before bed.

Finally I tried the obvious solution; read a chapter or two at a time. This was easier said than done. It required me to completely change how I spent 27 years thinking about reading. My whole reading philosophy had to change.

I was skeptical of my ability to enjoy a novel while reading a bit at a time. What is life without instant reward? The first time I purposefully picked up a book on my lunch break I thought I would end up hating it. Instead I had a blissful hour in Scotland while reading The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley. Did I want to keep reading? Obviously, a change in mindset wasn’t going to be a complete miracle cure. However, I did enjoy my hour and didn’t become an absolute grumpus when my reading flow had to be interrupted. I experimented with this new reading style for the rest of the week, reading for an hour here or there, and by the end of the week I had read two books. Shock and amazement followed. I could live a productive adult life, get enough sleep, read a good number of books, and still enjoy my reading time? Whhhaaatttt. Game changer.

I successfully broke my binge reading cycle, with binges reserved for the occasional weekend or holiday. Not only does it give me more time to read for business and pleasure but I’ve also learned to enjoy my reading breaks. It’s a little bit like having a nice flirtation with a novel before you get to the climax and inevitable end. And who doesn’t like a little flirtation now and again?

Until next time,